


Father Frost

by Made_Of_Love



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Hetalia, Magic, Snow, fairy tale, fairytale, fairytalia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 10:39:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5704564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Made_Of_Love/pseuds/Made_Of_Love
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Survive nights in the cold by a handsome and distant stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Father Frost

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Father Frost](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/168691) by Maybe Alexander Afanasyev. 



> "Father Frost" is a Russian fairy tale collected by Alexander Afanasyev and made Hetalia-fied by yours truly. Also posted on my deviantart under magixfire. Go check it out.

You hated your stepmother. You hated her to the point that if anything happened to her, you doubted you could even pretend to care. The same went for her daughter – your stepsister. How could your sweet, loving father have married such a witch? It had to be for beauty. There was no doubt that your stepmother was a very beautiful woman and her daughter was pretty as well. But what did it matter if someone could look like an angel and behave like a devil?

The feeling was mutual by the way. Every day you grew more beautiful and, despite your hatred, more virtuous. You were kind to all and respected everyone (unless they didn’t deserve it). Needless to say that the daughter hated you too. She grew prettier but remained as cruel as ever, showing kindness only when she desired something and contempt when she didn’t.

“Good morning, ______,” greeted your father as you entered the kitchen.

“Good morning to you as well, father,” you chirped as you placed a kiss on his cheek. “Has the cow been milked yet?”

“No. Why don’t you go and take care of it. I’ll put more wood fire to warm up the house, so you’ll be nice and toasty when you return.” You smiled at him before picking up the metal pail by the doorway and stepping out into the crisp winter air. You pulled an ashen rose colored shawl closer to you from where it was draped around your shoulders. Your clothes were thin. You didn’t have very warm clothes since the stepmother arrived and began to spend money as if she were a queen and not the wife of a humble farmer.

There was a thin layer of frost on the ground that sparkled like silver and diamonds in the rays of the sun as it peaked over the hilltops and the silhouettes of several buildings and houses in the distance. Your breath came out in translucent, white wisps that billowed in front of your face like smoke curling from a candle. You entered the barn, taking a deep breath and inhaling the scent of sweet hay and straw and oats. Vasilisa, a dapple gray mare, whinnied as she saw you enter, and you stroked her soft muzzle. She sniffed at your hand and face.

“I don’t have any carrots for you today. I’m sorry.” She watched you walk to the cow before walking to the back of her stall to munch on the hay and oats in her trough.

“Good morning, Anya.” Anya was lazily chewing her cud while standing in the corner of her stall, patiently waiting to be milked. On the wall of her stall was a small square window, dirtied with time and frosted with ice that looked out to the rest of the farm. You liked to look through this if only for one of your guilty pleasures – watching your stepsister struggle with hens none too happy to have her collecting their eggs. Yes, no matter how much charm the stepmother poured over your father, she couldn’t get him to dump the extra chores on you – despite claiming that her daughter was something to be kept and not worked. But you wouldn’t mind the extra work. All of the animals had served as companions for you, having grown up without any playmates considering how far out of town you lived.

You milked the cow, enjoying the warmth that radiated off of her large body before returning to the house, over hearing your stepmother discussing the arrival of what looked to be a snow storm in the distance. You hung up the shawl and carried the pale to the kitchen where you began to prepare a meal.

You opened the cupboards, frowning a bit at the little flour and oil and produce your family possessed. Winters were always hardest on the farm, but the addition of two more mouths to feed could spell disaster. You began to make bread, listening in on the conversation in the next room over.

“Another thing I wish to discuss involves food and money. We both know we won’t make it through the winter like this. We have too many mouths to feed,” the stepmother complained, “I think –,” your ability to hear their conversation was ruined as your stepsister burst into the room with about half a basket of eggs. You had no doubt in your mind that she had dropped the other half while trying to escape the wrath of the hens. Her dress was covered in small down feathers and there were mud stains on her elbows, probably from falling on her back (which would explain why it looked like the chickens had walked up and down her body, having gotten a chance to). You smiled in amusement as you walked past her to the stairs leading down to the cellar where the vegetables and fruits and preserves and dried meats were kept. You grabbed a few potatoes and carrots and some dried rabbit for a light stew to go along with the bread.

“I understand,” you heard your father say as you returned from the cellar. You paid it no mind and continued with preparing the meal.

Family meals were usually quiet, but now there seemed to be some form of tension that hung in the air around you. You idly sipped at the stew and traced the circular patterns in the worn wood table the four of you sat at. You finally looked up when your father cleared his throat.

“______,” he said before giving you a weary smile. You smiled back happily.

“Yes, father?”

“Today let’s go to the forest and see what berries we can find. You can make tarts for us all to enjoy later.” It had been a while since you had picked berries in the woods with your father. He must’ve found a patch of them the other day when he had gone our cutting wood – you couldn’t think of any other reason he might suggest finding fruits in the dead of winter.

“Oh father! It’s been so long since we’ve gone to find fruits for treats.”

~

You sat on the cart up front with your father and your stepmother and step sister sat in the cart. The four of you bumped along the trail. A light snow had started, and when you expressed concern that there might be a storm later, your father calmed you by saying that you would not stay long if the snowfall became much heavier. The four of you hopped out of the cart before heading in different directions. You kept your eyes peeled as you combed through the brush, looking for wild berries. Your mouth watered at the thought of ripe, juicy fruits and deliciously sweet tarts. But you couldn’t find any. Perhaps the frost and snow had gotten them earlier and were gone now. Or maybe the creatures that chose not to hibernate had eaten them all. After about another thirty minutes of searching, you sighed in disappointment. It was just as well, the snow was starting to get heavy.

You returned to where the cart had been, but there was nothing there. You rolled your eyes at your own forgetfulness and began to walk back to where the cart must’ve been – because they just had to be nearby and you were just forgetful of where… right? But there was no cart. There was no cart to be found anywhere. With horror you realized that your stepmother must have told him that in order to survive the winter, they had to get rid of someone. Tears stung at your eyes as you felt overwhelming betrayal. It wasn’t like you thought the stepmother wouldn’t be so cruel, but your own father?

You fell to your knees into the thin blanket of snow that had already coated the ground. You were going to die out here. You were going to freeze to death because no bears were awake to come by and deliver a swift death.

After about ten minutes, snow had sunk into your clothes and boots and stung at your skin and caused your clothes to cling to you uncomfortably. You hated it, but wished it had remained that way once you felt your legs go numb. You tried your hardest to stay upright but found it difficult, and you kept falling. Eventually, you could no longer stand and sat there in the snow and ice. You lay on your side, excepting your fate. You stared into the distance, admiring the beautiful sight of the trees glistening with snow and icicles. At least your grave would be beautiful.

You had no idea how long you’d been laying there. Long enough that you imagined you could see angelic figures waiting for you to cross over to the other side, but then you saw in the distance a figure. You thought you might have been imagining things (besides angels). Surely, no one else was out here. Perhaps it was your father here to take you home and announce that he was rid of that dreadful woman and equally as awful daughter of hers. But as you watched the figure walk closer, you realized that it couldn’t be your father. This figure was certainly taller and far paler. It was a man. He leaned down to your form and brushed the snow from your face – it had stopped melting with the loss of your body heat. You looked into the eyes of the man. He had pale bluish white skin and crystalline white hair and violet eyes that were dark in comparison to his pale features.

“I-I,” you croaked as he looked down at you with hard eyes, “I’d give you my cloak but I’m afraid it’s already been soaked through. I’m sorry I can give you no warmth.” He seemed to find this amusing as he resisted laughing at your comment before bursting out into laughter. You imagined that your face would be burning if it weren’t so frozen.  
He picked you up and carried you to a cave where he built a fire and set you next to it. You had passed out on the way over but began to wake up. The warmth made your skin tingle. You looked around and saw the man standing at the mouth of the cave.

“Do you like the cold?” you asked.

“Yes.” He didn’t even look at you. Perhaps he wasn’t much of a talker. Or he just didn’t talk to strangers.

“Is that why you laughed when I said I would have given you my cloak?” He chuckled.

“No. I just have no need for it.”

“Oh.” It was silent once more. “Do you live out here?”

“You could say that.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t get lonely?” He gave her a hard look. Perhaps she had asked too many questions. “I’m sorry. It’s really none of my business. My name is ______.”

“Frost,” he answered simply. There was more silence.

“I like that name. It’s unique.” He looked at you again, but instead of a callous stare, it was more intrigued.

“Are you hungry?” Your stomach growled. A tiny smile lit his face – he was amused. “Close your eyes and imagine something. By the time you open them, it’ll be yours.”

“How?”

“Kindness merits rewards.” You didn’t understand it, but you knew if you asked, you’d be asking more questions. And you didn’t wish to bother him again. You closed your eyes and remembered a time when your mother was alive. She always made the most delicious meals. You remembered spiced apples and hot, buttered rolls. Roast duck and boiled potatoes. You could almost smell it. You took a deep breath. Wait. You could smell it. You opened your eyes and saw before you a small table with a silvery table cloth embroidered with gold holding everything you imagined. You had no idea how such a spread had appeared, but you didn’t care. Tears of gratitude sprung to your eyes and you turned to thank Frost, but he was nowhere to be found. Only a little pile of hay in the corner and a blanket?

You enjoyed your meal and set some aside in the basket where the rolls had been sitting.

“Did you enjoy the food?” Frost reappeared at the cave entrance.

“Yes, very much thank you. I saved some for you.” He looked surprised at your kindness.

“Thank you. You should get some rest now.” You had no trouble doing so. Your full stomach made you feel drowsy, and you were asleep in minutes.

The next morning you awoke to an empty cave. Empty aside from the hay on which you slept and a large chest. Curiosity got the better of you, so naturally you opened it. Inside was a dress and a cloak. It was a (f/c), silk dress embroidered with white, silver, and gold. This was a dress you could only dream of. Never had you ever imagined even being able to see something that surely only the rich could afford, much less hold it in your hands. The cloak was thick and woolen and very well made. It would take the snow a long amount of time to soak through and even longer for the icy winds to reach you.

“They are yours to keep.” Frost was back. You stared at him with a blindingly bright smile.

“Thank you so much!”

“Every day the chest will produce a gift for you.” He turned back to stare at the wintry landscape. He was surprised when you gave him a hug. You looked past him to see that the storm had passed. You admired the sparkling beauty of the freshly fallen snow and the way the sunlight shone through the icicles. He noticed your gaze. “You can go out so long as you’re back before the sun sets.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You donned your knew cloak and stepped outside of the cave. The snow crunched beneath your feet. You didn’t know what you expected to do out there in the wilderness, but you were just happy to be allowed to explore. That was when you came across a flower. It was odd to see sunflowers at this time of year. But you had a good feeling about it. It was only four feet high and the head had already bloomed, so it was relatively small. You thought it would make a nice gift for Frost either way and brought it along with you. It was a nice contrast – the bright sunshine yellow that reminded you of summer somehow seemed even brighter against the bright of the white snow. It was more like gold than yellow.

~

“I got this for you,” you said, presenting the flower to Frost. He was, once again, surprised by the warmth and kindness of your heart.

“Why are you so kind to someone you do not know?” His question took you by surprise.

“I don’t know. I was just raised to be kind to others. Why are you so kind to me? You don’t know me either.” He paused at your question then disregarded it.

“In a few days, your father will come for you to collect your body.” It was a strange thing to say, but you didn’t doubt it after all that had happened to you.

~

Sure enough in ten days’ time, your father arrived to collect your body. But what he saw made him wonder if some deity was fooling him. It had to be some cruel trick. Before him was a young woman sitting on a chest. Her hair was silken and long and bright eyes that sparkled more than the glittering snow that surrounded her. Her skin was smoother than silk and clean, and the silk garments she wore made her appear more like a princess. Who was this woman that so very much resembled his deceased daughter?

“Father!” you cried as you rushed into his arms for a hug. He held you away suddenly at arms’ length.

“______! My daughter! Is it really you? Tell me this isn’t some cruel trick of fate and that I hold not in my arms a ghost of who you once were.”

“It’s really me. Father, I’ve missed you so much, and I have so much to tell you.”

“Tell me at dinner. Please forgive me for what I had done. I have been plagued by nightmares of your ghost ever since.” You could see that he looked as if he was losing sleep. “Then one night I dreamed that I went to the barn and Vasilisa and Anya told me that you were alive. I told the wife and she told me that I was crazy and the only thing out here would be your lifeless body. She told me to collect it. I thought the last act of kindness I could show you would be to give you the best burial I could. But here you are!”

“I was well cared for, but I’ll tell you all about it at dinner.”

And that was what you did. You retold the tale of Frost and the chest which still provided you with gifts and riches. It only responded to you as well. Any time someone else tried to open the chest, it was empty, but it gave you gifts every day as Frost had said.

“I’m sending my daughter out there,” your stepmother said a few days later. Your father nearly choked on his milk. Your stepsister spit out her food. Even you looked at your stepmother like she was crazy.

“We could do with another one of those chests. It’s not right that it only bears gifts to that witch.”

“Bite your tongue! You won’t speak of my daughter that way! If you continue to act this way, I’ll send you and your daughter out!”

“Fine!” She slammed her plate on the floor and rose suddenly from her seat. She grabbed her daughter’s hand and led her out of the house.

“We’ll return with that chest and make you regret threatening me!” Your father tried to coax her back into the house. Surely trying to brave the winter was suicide, but they didn’t listen. You never heard from them again, and so life returned to how it was before they entered your life. Until one day when you were coming in the house with the eggs. Then you heard a voice.

“Excuse me, miss.”

“Yes, can I help yo –” You froze once you had turned to see who had addressed you. Before you was a young man with pale skin, pale blonde hair – so blonde it appeared white – and violet eyes.

“Miss?”

“This will sound strange, but have we met before?”

“No. I believe I would remember a face as beautiful as yours.” You blushed.

“Forgive me. You remind me of someone I once knew.”

“It’s quite alright. My name is Ivan Braginski. Could I trouble you for a place to stay?”

“Please come in.”

"You're very kind."

"So I've been told."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed the story! Unitl next time.


End file.
